


Mix Tape

by pinstripesuit



Category: RocknRolla (2008)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-14
Updated: 2010-12-14
Packaged: 2017-10-13 16:31:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinstripesuit/pseuds/pinstripesuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A history of Johnny Quid and Archy’s peculiar relationship, told through twenty years and twelve songs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mix Tape

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pwincess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pwincess/gifts).



**Track 1: Jumpin’ Jack Flash - The Rolling Stones**

 _Present Day_

“You ever hear the one about Van Halen and the brown M&M’s?”

The gorilla can’t really answer with the swollen lip and missing teeth. His eyes dart at the heavy boot Johnny planted on his shoulder, the heel pressing against his collarbone.

“Ah, it’s a great one,” Johnny continues, grinning down from his perch on the old wooden desk. “So Van Halen - 80’s hairband - had a stipulation in their contract for shows to have a bowl of M&M’s in their dressing room, but with all of the brown ones removed. If they found one brown M&M, they’d trash the place and cancel the show. Why d’you think they did that?”

Archy watches from the side, listening, lips pressed tightly together.

“People thought they were just being stuck-up rock stars, but in fact, they had a very clever reason for it.” Johnny removes his boot from the goon’s shoulder and bangs his heel against the front of the desk in a rolling drum beat. “You see, they wanted to put on the biggest shows, make a real bang. But there’s liability to consider. You don’t want your pyrotechnics taking out everyone in the standing section, right? The contract spelled this all out very carefully. So, if they saw a brown M&M, they knew that it wasn’t followed to the letter and they’d have to check everything. Genius, ain’t it?

“So,” he goes on, plucking the cigarette dangling from his lip, “when you don’t follow every one of my orders, no matter how stupid they seem, I know it’s because you think I’m some stuck-up junkie rich boy rocker, right?”

Archy opens his mouth, but Johnny interrupts.

“Oh, I know you’re doing the best you can to tell ‘em otherwise, Arch,” he says. “And I dearly appreciate it. But you gotta take a more direct approach with the thickies.” He turns back to the gorilla and slides off the desk like a cat stretching in the sun. “The cream in my coffee.”

The bleeding man blinks up at him.

“My coffee ain’t got any cream. You forgot it,” Johnny explains. “I know it also means you forgot to shred those papers for the Berner building agreement.”

The gorilla starts to open his mouth, but Johnny supplies the answer he’s seeking: “I found ‘em in the dumpster, laid out for all to read.” He takes a long, hard drag on his cigarette, the paper sizzling. “Seriously, I can’t have sweet Uncle Arch doing everything for me. I ain’t your dad, here to hold your hand.”

“John--” Archy begins, but Johnny goes on.

“But maybe like your dad, I gotta instill a little discipline, hm? A bit o’ pain so you’ll learn.” The cigarette gripped between his knuckles glows hot, millimeters from the man’s wide, unblinking eye. Johnny’s grinning with teeth that could cut a guitar string, and all of the air in the office disappears.

\---

 **Track 2: Substitute - The Who**

 _Twenty Years Earlier_

Archy kept an eye on Johnny’s frowning face through the ceremony, but he notices now that it’s conspicuously absent at the reception. Excusing himself, he steps out of the rented hall and finds the kid around the corner, crouching against the wall in his too-big suit.

“What’s that you’re listening to, Johnny-boy?” Archy asks with a faint smile, eyeing the Walkman resting in the boy’s lap.

“...The Who,” the boy grumbles after a moment, glancing up at him.

Archy whistles. “You got good taste then. You like the classics?”

A small smile betrays the boy’s sullenness. “Good’s good. It ain’t matter if it came out thirty years ago or last week.” He looks back at the bright lights of the reception hall, which is currently belting Air Supply. “New doesn’t _make_ something good.”

Archy follows the boy’s gaze, spotting Lenny among the crowd dancing with Johnny’s mum. He didn’t know the old man _could_ dance.

\---

 **Track 3: Waiting Room - Fugazi**

 _Seventeen Years Earlier_

When Archy arrives at the house Lenny’s muttering something about the little fucker sneaking into his office again.

Outside the boy’s room he can hear disjointed notes retching from an amp. He knocks once and opens the door.

“I left some sheet music in there,” Johnny says immediately, body bowed around his guitar.

“You coulda asked me t’look for it,” Archy suggests. “You shouldn’t be movin’ around your dad’s papers.”

“Didn’t mean he had to call me a murderer,” the boy grumbles, angrily raking the pick over the strings.

“You know what he said ain’t true, John,” Archy murmurs. “Your mum wasn’t a well woman. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I fuckin’ know that,” Johnny snarls. “Doesn’t make him less of an arsehole.”

“Language,” Archy warns, sitting down on the bed next to the kid. Johnny gets up to flip through his CD collection, leaving his guitar on the bed.

Archy gets back up, giving the boy a smile. “Come on, let’s go pick up some new strings. It looks like the ol’ girl needs it.”

“...Yeah?” Johnny asks, glancing over at him.

“Yeah.”

\---

 **Track 4: Me and the Devil Blues - Robert Johnson**

 _1993_

“I hope you can hold a pencil with those fingers, John,” Archy says, sliding into the seat next to the boy, eyeing Johnny’s bandage-wrapped fingertips.

Johnny frowns at his hands. “I don’t seem to be getting any better.”

“Well, you could either practice more, John, or sell your soul to the Devil,” Archy points out, smirking faintly. “Y’need to practice if you’re gonna be a rock star.”

“I got my stage name picked out already,” Johnny boasts.

“Yeah? And what’ll you call yourself?”

“Johnny Quid.”

“Quid?” Archy asks, looking over at him with an incredulous smile.

“Johnny Cash. Johnny Quid.”

“That’s a big name to live up to.”

“And I’ll live up to it, Arch,” Johnny replies, grinning.

Archy chuckles. “You signed up for music lessons at Eton then?”

“Yep,” Johnny replies, kicking the toe of his polished shoe into the back of the driver’s seat. “Proper stuff, too, like voice and classical guitar. Dunno the difference between classical guitar and real guitar but it's probably just something about when the music's from. And the choir. I might make the choir, that's a big deal."

“A right little Mozart,” Archy says. “Just make sure you also take the classes your dad wants you t’take. Compromise.”

“Stepdad,” Johnny corrects him grumpily. “Not like he lets me forget it.”

“Just try to get at least C’s, ‘kay?” Archy implores.

“Oh, don’t worry, Arch, I’ll pay attention,” Johnny replies, smiling. “You gotta know all the rules before you can break ‘em, right?”

\---

 **Track 5: Gimme Danger - Iggy Pop and The Stooges**

 _Winter Break, 1995_

Archy knows that Johnny knows what kind of business Lenny is in. Johnny’s biological father was in much the same. Johnny’s a sharp kid; he’d figure it out soon enough, and Archy doesn’t see the point in keeping it from him. Best to be pragmatic in this business.

Which is why he’s driving John to one of Lenny’s warehouses just outside London.

“I know how to shoot a gun, Arch,” Johnny whines, shoving his hands into his pockets as Archy leads him inside. “Picked it plenty o’times from your pocket...”

The warehouse is big and empty, and Johnny can’t resist shouting a few lines from the _War Requiem_ just to hear it echo.

Archy rolls his eyes. “I’m showing you how to use it _properly._ You ain’t pullin’ that little stunt again.” He pulls the Browning from its holster and unlocks the safety. “Always assume it’s loaded, got it?”

“Got it,” Johnny replies, but steps closer, paying attention to how Archy’s fingers unlock the chamber.

“And you keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to fire,” he goes on, demonstrating as he aims at an empty beer bottle left behind on one of the railings. He waits a brief moment, then pulls the trigger, hitting the target in the heart.

“Here, now you try,” Archy says, handing Johnny the gun grip-first. “That other bottle.”

“When can I get my own gun?” Johnny asks, aiming, keeping his finger on the trigger guard until he neatly lines up the sight. He pulls the trigger and the bottle shatters. “What kind should I get?”

Archy smirks faintly, pleased with the boy’s demonstration. “After you practice more. What kind you want?”

“A nice, pretty little one, Uncle.”

\---

 **Track 6: Misery is the River of the World - Tom Waits**

 _Summer Break, 1996_

Johnny has turned the speakers face-first to the carpet so the downstairs ceiling vibrates, and he’s screaming in fake German about circus freaks and the apocalypse.

Archy’s heading up the stairs before Lenny can yell at him to deal with the boy.

“John, turn down that -- _The fuck you doin’?_ ”

Johnny’s standing in the middle of the room, his desk and bed and music equipment pushed off against the wall, wreathed in acrid cigarette smoke and gripping a bottle of Len’s whiskey.

“Uncle!” Johnny greets him, swaying slightly, shirtless, his voice sounding like it’s crawling through a sewer pipe.

“What’re you doin’?” Archy says, turning off the stereo. “Give us the bottle. You look like a fuckin’ pikey...”

Johnny smirks crookedly and hands him the whiskey, takes another long drag on his cigarette. “Voice training, Arch.”

“You’re too young t’smoke,” Archy growls, snatching the cigarette from the boy’s fingers. “What about choir?”

“Dropped it.” He coughs into his fist.

“Dropped it?”

“Yeah. My voice broke last term.”

“They have other singing classes you can take, right? You don’t gotta lose it.”

“Nah, it ain’t right.”

“What ain’t right?”

“My voice.”

“You ain’t making it sound any better, John,” Archy points out.

“It ain’t about being better,” Johnny replies hoarsely.

\---

 **Track 7: Looking for a Kiss - The New York Dolls**

 _One Week Later_

Archy’s not sure what makes John’s face look worse: the blood or the glitter.

He got the call at three in the morning -- John was at least still sober and smart enough to call Archy and not the house -- and paid the bail, plus a little extra to keep this off the books and off Lenny’s radar. Another fight with some club kids, the police tell him, and Johnny is all too eager to boast, his thin, frigid hands buried in Archy’s coat as Archy drags the boy out to the car.

“Archy, Archy...” Johnny chimes, latching onto Archy’s body heat, “It weren’t my fault. They made the DJ play fuckin’ Moby...”

“You’re washing that Bowie shit off as soon as we get home,” Archy growls.

“New York Dolls,” Johnny corrects him, murmuring against Archy’s breast pocket. “‘s glam _punk_ , Arch. Not straight glam.”

Archy smacks the back of the kid’s head and shoves him into the car. Johnny sprawls over the backseat with a giddy laugh.

“I don’t _ever_ wanna see you in jail again, yah hear?” Archy says, glaring back at the boy from the passenger seat.

“Cross my heart, Arch,” Johnny sings, pressing his palm to his chest, and Archy gets a look at his bruised knuckles and black nail polish.

\---

 **Track 8: Death Letter Blues - Son House**

 _2004_

He does see Johnny in jail again.

Not locked up, as far as he knows, though it wouldn’t be surprising. When he sees the newspaper on the table in the prison cafeteria, his eyes immediately fall upon the headline splashed across the front of the entertainment section: “Fists Fly at the Q Awards.” “Quidlickers front man Johnny Quid was involved in an altercation with Oasis singer Liam Gallagher during the music awards show,” it goes on to explain, “resulting in the destruction of a podium and several light fixtures and tables, estimated at £8,000 worth of damage. Quid was released from London Bridge Hospital late last night after receiving eight stitches for a split lip. He stated that he does not plan to press charges against Gallagher, adding, ‘You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make him kiss your [expletive removed].’ Gallagher could not be reached for comment.”

The photo is larger than the article, showing Johnny and Liam Gallagher being pulled apart by two bodyguards. The kid looks ridiculous: the flash of the cameras reflect off his over-sized sunglasses, the too-tight shirt and jacket riding up to reveal a sunken stomach and dangerous hips. He’s like a fighting dog, beaten and starved to keep him mean, burning up. The rest of the article is a laundry list of Johnny’s recent troubles, at least as much as the paper is able to fly under libel law.

The next time he reads about Johnny in the paper it’s a halfway obituary.

\---

 **Track 9: Sunny Afternoon - The Kinks**

 _2005_

Things seem to return to normal when he gets out. Lenny and the others welcome him back with jokes and pats on the back, and Archy takes his place again at his boss’ side. It runs like clockwork, Lenny arranging the meetings and paperwork, Archy’s visits to the Councillor, and a nice fat check on his desk at the end of it.

Archy only hears from John during calls to Lenny asking for more money, which always end with Lenny throwing the phone against the wall. He doesn’t get any other news except for glimpses caught in gossip rags and on television.

Tank offers to tell him more because Tank hears everything, but Archy doesn’t want to listen.

\---

 **Track 10: My Iron Lung - Radiohead**

 _At That Same Time_

Pete can’t lip-synch worth shit.

That is, if he actually was lip-synching. But Johnny can’t hear what he’s saying over the throbbing bass encased in the Sennheisers covering his ears, so for all he knows, Pete is really talking about headshrinkers and a twentieth-century bitch.

“John!” Pete tries to shout through the noise.

Johnny wrinkles his nose and rips off the headphones.

“Pawn shop closes at nine,” Pete says. “If we want money for Cookie we gotta find something to sell.”

Johnny sits up and quickly glances around at the flotsam and jetsam in their den. “The AC-60,” he replies, and flops back down on the couch, closing his eyes.

“Yah sure? You brought it here...”

“You could get about one hundred for it,” Johnny points out, scratching his chest. The amp doesn’t work too well anymore anyway, the mesh over the speakers is dented and the surface chipped and worn - nothing like when Archy got it for him new as a birthday present five years back.

\---

 **Track 11: After Hours - The Velvet Underground**

 _One Week After Lenny’s Demise_

Johnny looks worse than when he came in, thin and gray with tubes sticking out of him. “Takin’ a break from cleanin’ up the mess, Arch?” he greets him, voice breaking slightly but still sounding like pure Johnny.

“Thought I’d pop by,” Archy says, pulling up a chair to the hospital bed. “How’re you feelin’?”

“Aside from my guts getting rearranged, not bad,” Johnny replies, resting back against the pillow.

Archy smirks faintly. “You’re a tough bastard, you’ll be fine.” He pulls the chair a bit closer, meeting Johnny’s eyes. “What’s after this?”

“Rehab.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. What about you, Arch?”

Archy sits back, thinking for a moment. He spent the last week tying up loose ends, he hasn’t had time to consider anything else.

Johnny smirks. “You wouldn’t know what to fuckin’ do with yourself.”

Archy sighs. “...See how rehab goes, John.”

\---

 **Track 12: A Good Man is Hard to Find - Tom Waits**

 _Back to the Present_

Johnny lights up a fresh cigarette after the gorillas file out of the office, ocular organs intact for now but in need of fresh pairs of trousers.

“Stunts like that are certainly building your reputation, John,” Archy says, closing the door. “I ain’t sure it’s the right one, though.”

“‘s no worse than dear ol’ Daddy and the crayfish,” Johnny replies, glancing at the Iggy Pop poster that has replaced one of Lenny’s ridiculous horse and jockey paintings.

“That ain’t what I meant,” Arch says, crossing his arms and leaning against the edge of the desk. “If you’re gonna do it, then do it. Don’t fake out, or they won’t take yah serious next time.”

“You always had the best advice, Arch,” Johnny says sweetly, sliding up to the older man, gazing at him with doe eyes. “But,” he adds, taking a step back, “I was always a bit of a cocktease. Still banged him up good, though.”

Archy smirks faintly and ruffles Johnny’s curly hair. “Just do it better next time.”

“That’s why I have you around, Arch.”


End file.
